Serendipity, thy name is Zach

We begin with a fairy tale –

Four people dwell at a bar, two visit and two work. The two that visit are referred to as “Biscuit Girls” much to my angst. (30+ year old bar fly is not a life goal). One of the Biscuit Girls – the one that eventually followed her heart to Colorado (“L”), fell deeply and madly in love with one of the boys that worked at the Biscuit (“T”). Thus a stalking – um, I mean a pattern began. The two girls would spend each evening stalking T. Most evenings were spent perched on bar stool drinking beers and eating burgers. For two years she pursued her love. Two very long and beer soaked years. And in this time, I developed a small crush on the other boy. I mean really – what was I to do? I had lots of time on my hands, and I was nursing a broken heart. Truth be told, I was boy crazy. My crush had blue eyes, tons of blonde curls and a goofy way about him (“Z”). Eventually L persuaded T that they were meant to be and I was released back into the wilds of Houston. Then T convinced L that Colorado was the place to be, so they loaded up the truck and the rest is history.

On a side note, once freed from the bar, I replaced my stool time with bike time and my beer with water, and promptly lost 50 lbs.

Now to the future (Sunday to be exact) –

I sit with my boy (“BB”) at a bar, and a bartender very much like Z serves us drinks; curls, blue eyes, quirky personality. I mention this to BB. We will call the bar, Volcano (it matters later). We move on to another bar, and a boy that looks familiar sits on the other side of BB. Thus my sweetie is pressed into service. He asks his standard question “Did you hang out/work at/know of the Biscuit?” He has done this before, so I know that he has it under control. As it turns out, I do know the boy and he starts to fill me in on the boys from my past. Z now works at Volcano. Him, again? Monday I get an email about an event at the Volcano and it mentions Z’s name. Very quirky this old world.

But serendipity is two years too late, and besides that ol’ crush ended when I caught a glimpse of him in tennis shoes and socks at work. GASP! It was very tragic; I had an extra beer to mourn its death.